I cried while putting my kids to bed tonight.
Blame the pandemic.
Blame the fact that my youngest was under the weather over the weekend, and it’s got me on edge.
Blame it being pretty much house-bound since early March.
Blame it on extreme boredom.
Blame it on a lack of adult interaction.
Blame it on all the sibling-fighting amongst the kids.
Blame it on decision overload.
Blame it on all the effing cooking and cleaning.
Blame it on my anxiety.
Blame it on too little coffee and too much wine or too much coffee and too little wine.
Blame it on my need to be in control.
Blame it on my preference for clarity, obviousness, and sureties.
Blame it on whatever you want, but don’t blame the kids.
And that’s what I’ve been doing.
I cried putting my kids to bed tonight because I’m exhausted, and they are contributing to my eternally, energy-depleted state.
I cried putting my kids to bed tonight because I feel I haven’t been doing right by them — being as present, loving, engaged, and patient as I should.
I cried while putting my kids to bed tonight because, in the last few hours of the day, all of my requests/instructions were met with defiance or just ignored.
I cried putting my kids to bed tonight because I fear their behavior is slipping, and that so is mine.
I cried putting my kids to bed tonight, and do you know what my kids did?
They gave me,
and buttload of hugs and kisses.
I cried putting my kids to bed tonight.
My tears came from a place of being worried as hell for them, me, and the state of our world and fatigued by the weight of all of it.
I cried putting my kids to bed tonight, and those munchkins would not let it slide.
They didn’t let a single tear drip off my face before they wiped it away -- along with each of their mistakes of the day and mine -- in one fell swoop.
I cried tonight because I was done.
I’m crying now because it’s really flippin’ amazing how your kids can put you back together when you’ve become undone.